


All My Children

by sapphireswimming



Series: All My Children [2]
Category: Danny Phantom, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Arrested Dean Winchester, Azazel Being an Asshole (Supernatural), Azazel's Special Children (Supernatural), Bad Ending, Blood and Injury, Casper High (Danny Phantom), Character Death, Crossover, Episode: s02e22 All Hell Breaks Loose, Fenton Works (Danny Phantom), Gen, Gen Work, Ghost Hunting, Half Ghost Angst, Protective Dean Winchester, School, Superphantom (Danny Phantom/Supernatural), Superphantom Week (Danny Phantom/Supernatural), Tragedy, painful painful irony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26819461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphireswimming/pseuds/sapphireswimming
Summary: Here, kneeling in a Wyoming cemetery, Dean realizes that even after using the Colt's last bullet, this is far from over.
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Tucker Foley & Sam Manson, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: All My Children [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955143
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: Superphantom Crossovers





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10119786/2/All-My-Children
> 
> Written for the Superphantom Week prompt: Past
> 
> Set in, with spoilers for, season 2-3 of Supernatural
> 
> Thanks to [Laora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora) for beta'ing
> 
> Mind the tags - this one doesn't end well

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The Gates of Hell were wide open, unimaginable things forcing their way through the teeming masses contained in the underworld to crawl out into a night sky that some of them had not seen in millennia.

None of this mattered to Dean Winchester. Not at the moment. All that he knew what that this was the end of the road for the demon in front of him. The one that had killed his mom and destroyed his dad and stolen his childhood and twisted his little brother into something that other hunters wanted to eradicate from the face of the earth.

Smoky shapes flew past his ears, zooming invisibly into the darkness, things that he could spend a lifetime chasing down escaping every minute, but he did not even spare them a glance. Bobby and Ellen would deal with them and could worry about closing the doors of the crypt.

He had seen Sammy knocked up against a gravestone by this demon and, once he had made sure that the brother whose life he had just bought back was still breathing, he had exploded in an anger that had waited, simmering, under his skin since he was four years old.

Lunging sideways to retrieve the Colt from where it had been knocked out of his hand, he saw the rusting length of chain hanging from an old boundary post. Praying for all he was worth that it was iron, he yanked it free with his other hand and hurled it blindly at the most powerful demon he had ever faced.

It caught the thing unawares, wrapping around his legs and bringing him to his knees before he had a chance to register the movement and disappear.

Dean heaved a few shaking breaths as he realized that the Yellow-Eyed Demon wasn't going anywhere. He stepped forward, caressing the gun in his hand, savoring the feel of the wooden handle as it met the metal of the barrel.

The demon looked vaguely amused. "This isn't over, you know."

"Oh yes, it is," Dean said.

Eyes winked shut in a smile. "No. Sammy isn't the only contender."

"Yeah, he is. Everyone else is gone. Jake is dead. Sam won your stupid little game. And now," he licked his lips, "now you're exiting the stage. So that's it. No more. It's all over."

Laughing, the figure on the ground appeared unconcerned at his predicament once he knew just how wrong the hunter was. "You wish," he replied. "But no. I already told Sammy. He isn't the first of his kind. It's a generational thing, you see, my kids. Going back through the centuries. Every twenty years, a new set of them crop up across the country. Yes, your brother's generation is already gone," he admitted. "But I've been busy. Planting seeds," he said with relish. "You think you're all done derailing whatever plan you think I have but you're not. You think they're all gone, but they're my little sleeper cells, waiting now. Just waiting for their powers to surface."

Dean shifted his stance uneasily. "Yeah, well, without you there to lead them dark side, they won't be a problem. And we've… got all the time in the world to find them."

Yellow eyes pierced him through with a knowing smile. "Oh you'd like to think so, wouldn't you? You keep on telling yourself that, kiddo. 'All the time in the world' will start to look a lot shorter in about six months from now," he warned.

Dean gritted his teeth and forced himself not to reply.

"But it's not like they'll need me anyway," the demon continued. "They've already got a leader."

"Sam isn't going to—!"

"Not your little brother, don't be stupid," he interrupted. "One of them will rise up to lead his generation and they won't need to get whittled down because he'll stand up to lead them into battle and they'll follow without question. Because he's very special. Even more than your brother. More than I thought would ever be possible," he said, voice thin and sharp as he beamed with praise. "Because this kid's already displaying his talents. So early. He's so incredibly gifted. I mean, this kid's got something really special," he shivered gleefully. "He'd be special even without my… ovaltine."

The demon sat back on his haunches and laughed at the gun staring him in the face. "So good luck finding him.

"And good luck trying to talk him out of anything. You'll need it," he added with a knowing look. "But I won't wish you luck trying to leave once you realize it's a lost cause, though. I'd just be wasting my breath," he laughed.

Dean shook his head. "You're lying. That's not possible. There can't already be another one; you'd have brought him in on this."

"And wasted my star player before he'd reached his prime?" the demon asked, shocked and offended.

"Go ahead," he goaded the hunter. "Don't believe me. And when he picks up where Sammy left off, see what I—"

With one easy motion, Dean lifted the Colt and pulled the trigger, firing the bullet straight between the creature's eyes.

"Fine," he spat at the twitching corpse of the thing that had destroyed his family time and time again. "I will."

Then, turning on his heels, he left the corpse of the yellow eyed demon behind him, noticing for the first time the frantic flights of demons darkening the already velvety sky.

A glance to the right showed that Bobby and Ellen had somehow done the impossible and managed to shut the crypt and seal the Devil's Gate once more. The demons that had escaped hadn't bothered to try to fight the small group of hunters. They probably would have overpowered any resistance fairly easily had they banded together to try to hold the gates open indefinitely, but these twisted souls didn't seem to care about anything but getting out of the pit and escaping the flames as fast as possible. They were out of danger for the moment.

Dean's whole frame eased as he dropped a weight that had ridden on his shoulders for years. Kneeling beside his brother, who had begun to stir, opening his eyes and flailing around with his too-long arms, he couldn't remember a moment when he had been happier or more relieved.

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The Yellow-Eyed Demon was dead, all control over his special kids gone. The only one left in this generation, the one meant to lead his armies now that he was dead, couldn't care less about the news once he heard about the cost at which it had come.

And the leader of the next generation was unaware that because of the actions of a handful of hunters on the other side of the country, his life was supposed to be different now.

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	2. Chapter 2

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Danny was almost expecting the headaches now, but the first wave of pain was so intense as it vibrated through his skull that he dropped his pencil where it clattered on the floor and rolled under Tucker's desk. He buried his face in his hands, test page in front of him forgotten as the rush of images flashed so intensely in his brain that they threatened to overwhelm him.

Lancer looked up disapprovingly at the noise, warning him with a glare that went unseen to keep from disturbing the rest of his classmates.

Tucker held out the pencil, waiting for Danny to feel better enough to notice it, while Sam looked on from the other side of the desk, concerned.

"Are you okay?" Tucker whispered. "Who is it now? Ghost?" He flicked eyes nervously toward the window to see if anything was coming, although he already knew that Danny's early warning system normally gave them more time that than. But he nudged his backpack, filled with various ghost hunting weapons, closer to him with his foot as he waited for Danny to recover.

"No," Danny mumbled into his arm. "Not a ghost."

"Well good. Because this is coming at a bad time, dude. We only have twenty more minutes in the period to finish this test and we both need to pass. I don't want that all nighter helping you study to have been a waste of time."

"Not like I can turn it off you know," Danny muttered.

"I know, man, but…" he broke off suddenly as Lancer looked up again, narrowing in on the two habitual troublemakers of the year. Danny and Tucker both immediately went back to their papers, trying to write out the rest of the answers in the few precious minutes they had left.

After the bell rang, the three of them shuffled out into the hall with their classmates. They'd barely made it to their lockers when Danny doubled over, not falling only because of the quick hands Sam put out to keep him from face planting into the floor.

"Whoa there," she said as she and Tucker both pulled him upright. "Another one?" she frowned.

"Yellow Eyes?" Tucker asked with a grimace.

"No," Danny picked his head up, relief visible in his still pain-etched features. "Not him. There were two guys last time," he said, suddenly remembering what had thrown him for such a loop that he didn't even know if he put down an answer for the last seven questions.

"Did you recognize them?"

"I don't know who they were. I don't know why I saw them," Danny whispered with his eyes squeezed shut.

"But it was a ghost this time," Danny said, confused and frustrated at the lack of knowledge he was left with after most of his scattered visions.

Sam and Tucker both reached for their pocket blasters, making sure they were on hand. "Someone we know?"

"Box Ghost."

"Dang. Again?" Tucker groaned.

"Hey," Danny said, standing up on his weight as he put out a hand to steady himself on his locker. "I don't know why you're complaining. It's not like you have to have your head split open every single time he's about to show up."

"I know," Tucker said, quietly. "I'm sorry. It's just… I don't know how he keeps getting out!"

"Me either," Danny sighed, switching out books for his next period and handing them off to Tucker. "Okay, I'm gonna… go change… in the bathroom… I'll see you guys in class."

"Alright, Danny," Sam said as she added her books on top of Danny's pile. "Good luck."

Tucker shifted all of the books he was carrying to try to find a good position. "But why do I have to carry all of the heavy textbooks?" he whined once Danny had gone. "Why can't you take some of them, Sam?"

"Because one of us has to have their hands free to shoot the ghosts."

"But why can't I ever be the one who gets to shoot the ghosts? Why is it always you?"

Sam smirked. "Because I'm the better shot. Plus," she added, "If you're actually serious about finding a girlfriend, you need to show all the girls that you're willing to carry their books for them."

"Ooooh!" Tucker exclaimed brightly as they walked past a couple groups of girls that he flashed with his most winning smile. "I get it now. Okay," he agreed happily to the arrangement.

Sam laughed. "Yeah, you're welcome."

They made it to class and claimed their seats as Danny patrolled the school grounds invisibly. It didn't take him long to find the ghost he already knew was coming. Not when he announced to an empty football field that they needed to "BEWARE!"

"Beware yourself!" Danny shouted as he flew over to where the Box Ghost was floating with glowing fists.

"I AM THE BOX GHOST!"

"I know that!" Danny shouted. "But why are you here? Who sent you?" He asked as he threw ectoblasts at him.

"How dare you attack me! I shall bring about your dooooom!"

"Yeah, yeah," Danny said as he flew in circles around the ghost. "You've said that every time, but come on, why do you keep coming back? Is it the Yellow Eyed Man? Did he send you?"

Like every other time Danny had asked, the Box Ghost faltered. "I do not know of whom you speak. I know no 'yellow eyed man' but I DO KNOW HOW TO WEILD BOXES AND I WILL—!"

His tirade was cut short as Danny pulled out his thermos and pressed the button that drew the ghost into the container with a blast of light.

"Well, if you still don't know, then I still don't care," Danny muttered to himself as he turned around only to pull up short when a fine blue mist pooled out of his mouth. "What? More of them?"

When he caught sight of the two green blobs heading toward him, he huffed and landed on the ground in a firm stance. "Well, at least you guys I can keep from coming back," he said, not that they could understand him.

Closing his eyes, he blasted outward with power from his hand. The blast caught the two low level ghosts and froze them in place as he screwed his eyes shut and focused all of his energy on _making them go back to where they were supposed to be_.

The shapes screamed and writhed as they were held in place by the initial beam before flickering in and out of sight. With one final push of strength, they disappeared entirely and Danny collapsed onto the grass at the ten yard line, breathing heavily and willing himself not to pass out.

"Please," he groaned as he laid spread eagle with an arm flung across his eyes. "No more. That's enough for today."

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While Danny hoped and prayed with all of his might that there would be no more ghosts and no more visions and no more weirdness in his life, Dean urged his brother, perhaps for the first time in his hunting career, to have a vision so that they could get a lead on the kid they needed to trace.

Sam huffed softly and told him, as he had many times before, that he had no control over what he did and did not see.

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	3. Chapter 3

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Sam and Dean drove, and continued driving, far away from the cemetery in Wyoming. For the first few days, it didn't seem to matter where they went just so long as they kept going, the miles endlessly streaming past the Impala's windows.

They had no clue where the yellow eyed demon's young successor was in the country. Couldn't even narrow it down to a state or region because they had nothing to go on now that their only source of information was dead. If he had even been telling the truth to begin with. But Dean wasn't willing to take the chance that he had lied about the kid's existence. He wasn't going to stop until he had resolved this somehow.

Ash, their go to man for tracking anything, was probably still buried under the smoldering remains of the Roadhouse, so they could not rely on his expertise to put together a program that would find this psychic. Hopefully Ellen would be able to sort out funeral arrangements in addition to everything else on her plate.

Singer Salvage Yard would have been the next obvious base of operations, but Dean couldn't bear to go back there now. He knew, of course, that Bobby wouldn't— didn't— hold anything he had shouted at the man during those days when Sam was dead. But he couldn't bear to be cooped up in the house, static and trapped, with Bobby grilling him trying to understand how he could have made the deal, because _how could he not?_ and if he couldn't see that, there was no way he could explain it. And that was, of course, ignoring the fact that there was no possible way that he could be shut into a house with both Bobby _and_ Sam.

Sam hadn't relented in his quest for the truth until he had dragged out of Dean just what he had done. And even though they finally had cause for celebration in their lives because _the demon was dead_ , he hadn't been satisfied, couldn't be happy for just one minute, but dove straight into researching. Because he believed that he could somehow find a way out of Dean's deal, as if Hell didn't make their contracts ironclad.

It wasn't that he didn't understand where his brother was coming from, because he did, he truly did, but what his idiotic younger brother couldn't seem to get through that thick skull of his was that he was not going to let him die again and that was the only outcome of him trying to renege on his deal so that was automatically out of the question.

When Sam finally stopped trying to push that course of action, he wanted to stop and take every day as it came. Spend more time being brothers, and less time frantically chasing after the psychic kid before his time. If they wanted to hunt, sure, there were plenty of things that had just escaped from Hell and needed putting back. But that wasn't a priority for Dean. If they came across demons, fine, they'd take them out, but the only thing he was looking for was this kid.

They could spend all the rest of their time together being brothers as soon as he'd made sure that he wasn't leaving Sam in a world where the yellow eyed demon's successor lead an army for the specific purpose of destroying him.

Sam huffed, but, as he didn't own the keys to the Impala, he had no choice but to go along for the ride. And after a few days, it became a moot point anyway because Bobby called them with some information. A lead that might turn into something, a piece of information that was worth crossing the country yet again to follow.

"So, we're going after this?" Sam asked from the passenger seat.

Dean looked at him like he was crazy. "Of course we are."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "And what are we going to do when we get there?"

"We're going to check it out, see if this is legit and this is the kid Yellow Eyes was talking about."

"But if it is?" Sam asked, licking his lips, "What will we do then?"

Dean set his jaw and shrugged a little. "We'll take him out."

"Take him out?" Sam exclaimed, eyebrows high. "Dean, this is just a kid."

"An evil kid."

"You don't know that."

"That's what the demon said."

"And demons lie," Sam countered. "You say that all the time."

"Yeah, well I don't think he's lying about this."

"You… you don't think he's lying about this?" Sam repeated as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"No, I don't."

"Why not?" Sam challenged.

"Well, why would he, Sam? Huh? Why would he lie about that? What could his motive possibly be to tell us he had hand picked the leader of the next generation?"

"Maybe it was this," he answered, spreading his hands out. "To watch us dance. To make you waste up your time running after this wild goose chase. I mean, if this lead doesn't pan out, what are you going to do, stop? Finally relax? Go take me to see the Grand Canyon?"

Dean didn't answer him.

"What if… what if this wasn't challenging you to win, what if he was just winding you up to know that if he was alive he could be watching you dance?"

"Look, I know what you're saying, but I'm not willing to take that chance, not when we've got a lead. We're going there and we're going to take this kid out and we are going to make sure that he doesn't turn into another Jake that you need to fight in nine years. No, we do this now."

Sam stared out the window to collect his thoughts.

"It wasn't your fault, you know."

That threw Dean for a loop. "What?"

"The whole thing with Jake…" Sam said. "It wasn't your fault that he killed me."

Dean pressed his lips together for a moment. He knew that the only reason Sam had dropped his guard was because he'd shouted in relief to catch his attention. A selfish reaction that let a knife go into his brother's back just seconds later. While he was still too far away to protect him. He knew it was his fault, but he wasn't about to have this conversation here.

Instead he blinked back the beginning prickling of tears and said instead, "That's not what this is about."

Sam looked over with the smallest traces of a smile. "No?"

Dean pulled a face. "Nah. But after Jake, man, and the Devil's Gate opening, we can't let that happen again. I can't… leave you with that mess all on your own."

The taller Winchester nodded. "Thanks, man," he said softly. But before the moment could turn sappy, something both of them had been avidly avoiding over the past few days by turning up the music whenever a comment veered too close to home for either of them, he added, "But your plan is just to go in there and kill the kid?"

"Pretty much."

"Seriously? No… trying to make sure that he doesn't have an evil twin who's going to end up leading the demonic hordes? I mean, come on, no trying to figure out if this is Andy again?"

Dean gave his brother a calculating look. "I'm not saying that the kid couldn't be like Andy. I mean, maybe he is. But Andy was the only one who was actually good. And he kicked the bucket pretty early on in those psychic gladiator games of yours. That doesn't sound to me like Yellow Eyes' favorite."

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean continued talking. "We thought Ava was a great girl. We spent weeks looking for her and it turns out that she was killing college kids for kicks. Even if this kid is good now, there is absolutely no chance he will stay that way. And even if he is okay… I mean, Jake seemed like a decent guy too, but that didn't stop him from turning dark side. I just…" he ran a hand down his face. "After Jake, I have lost hope. I'm done giving people chances. I'm not leaving this up to chance. We go in there and we nip this thing in the bud. We finish it."

He looked over to see Sam's expression and added, "And… then we go to the Grand Canyon, huh? Or wherever you want to go. We just… we do this thing first."

For a long time, Sam watched the mile markers fly past the window, and then he leaned forward put in the Metallica tape.

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The brothers continued driving, not knowing anything about the kid they were going to kill, except that he had been born into the wrong place at the wrong time and they didn't have time to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Danny, on the other hand, saw their faces with increasing regularity, but, to his increasing frustration and concern, had no clue who they were or why they had started invading his head.

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	4. Chapter 4

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The first time he saw them, he had been flying above traffic trying to get to class on time, and thought he recognized the shaggy hair of the taller guy in one of the cars beneath him. By the time he had recovered from his double take and tried to locate them again, he couldn't find the car and wasted all of his made up time fruitlessly searching lanes until well after the bell for first period had rung.

Sam and Tucker exchanged concerned glances when he told them and wondered if he had been getting enough sleep.

But then during History, his head began to throb and he saw them in front of bricks and a flag pole that he would know anywhere. Trying to pull out of the pain as best he could, he remembered raising his hand to say he needed to go to the nurse's office and bolted out the door.

Flying through the walls, he watched as they pulled alongside the school grounds in a sleek black car, driving slowly as if they were casing Casper High, looking for something in the building that he could only guess at.

These were the two guys he had been seeing, though. He was absolutely sure of it now. There was no mistaking that mop of brown hair or the chiseled face with spiked hair and a leather jacket.

Danny watched them until, after saying something that he couldn't hear from his hiding place, they seemed to come to a decision and pulled out of the drive very slowly, eyes lingering on the building until they were nearly out of sight.

He never ended up making it to the nurse's office, but he still took his time making his way back to Sam and Tucker. Even though he wasn't able to come up with any answers, the questions he was supposed to be asking had become a little clearer.

Eventually, he went back to catch up with his friends, and filled them in on the fact that, no he was not seeing things, well, not seeing things that weren't there in a supernatural visionary sense, and that the two men he'd told them about actually did exist and were here in Amity Park. Neither of them thought that this was good news.

"I don't know, Danny," Sam chewed on her lip. "I don't think that you should have gone after those guys."

"Well, it's not like I _went after_ them," Danny defended, "And how on earth am I supposed to figure out who they are and why I've been seeing them unless I actually get a chance to talk to them?"

"But dude," Tucker pointed out, "every single time you've seen something, it's either been a ghost that's about to attack or creepy Yellow Eyed Man who keeps on telling you do join the dark side. That's not exactly the best track record of people you want to be making friends with."

Danny remained unconvinced, however, and wanted nothing more than to see the two men again, if only to finally understand who they were and what they had to do with him.

Which is why, later that afternoon when he was alone in the house and expecting no visitors, and the doorbell rang, he got up to answer it. He was unsurprised that, once he opened the door, he somehow stood face to face with the very two people he had been thinking about all afternoon.

"Hi," he said, a little breathlessly.

The two men exchanged glances before the taller one asked, "Is this the Fenton's house?"

"What, the gigantic Fenton Works sign above the door didn't clue you in?" Danny laughed. "Yeah, it is. Come on in," he invited.

Apparently, they weren't expecting such quick hospitality, because they looked at each other again with a strange expression on their face. But, of course, they didn't know that he had become familiar with their faces weeks ago and knew that they would be coming.

"So, we've got a couple questions if you don't mind…?" the shorter one said as he strode into the family room, eyes darting around taking note of the place.

"No problem," Danny said. "Most people do. Have a seat!" he waved an arm toward the couch. "Can I get you anything?"

"Uh," the taller one coughed uncomfortably. "No thanks."

"Okay," Danny said amiably as he took a seat in the recliner. "So, I'm Danny. Fenton. But you probably could have guessed that."

"I'm Dean Winchester," the guy in the leather jacket introduced himself. "And this is my brother Sam." Sam gave a little wave with a too-tight smile.

"Nice to officially meet you two," Danny said. "Hadn't guessed that you were brothers, but I can see it now," he said easily, effectively stopping any flow of conversation that may have been starting.

The Winchesters stared at Danny in complete silence.

"What do you mean?" Dean finally asked, his voice low and gravelly.

Danny was confused. "Well, I mean… weren't you coming to… didn't you know…?" he trailed off, unsure of himself now. He had just assumed that since they were here, they knew that they were supposed to be here and speaking to him. He had expected them to have the answers, not for them to have less information than he did.

"Know what?" Sam prompted.

Danny jumped a little as he was pulled out of his thoughts. "Oh! Well, I mean, didn't you come here to see me?" he asked, suddenly hoping that it wasn't a stupid question.

"We definitely came here expecting to meet someone, but we weren't exactly sure who that person was," Dean said, a calculating look on his face.

"Well, I think…" Danny hesitantly offered. "I think it was supposed to be me."

Sam stirred, folding his hands in front of him. "What makes you think it was supposed to be you, Danny?"

Danny looked back and forth between them. "Because I've been seeing you two for a while now."

"Seeing us, how?" Sam asked. "In your… in your head?"

"Yeah."

"Visions?"

"Yes!" Danny exclaimed, thankful that someone else knew that this sort of thing happened and didn't seem to dismiss it as crazy right off the bat.

"Like… really painful ones with bright flashes of light and then a couple seconds of video playing in your head?" Sam elaborated.

"Y-yes. How did you know that?"

Sam looked at his brother before answering. "Because, I get them too. I can see when someone's about to die."

Danny looked at him with wide eyes. "Oh man, that must be horrible! Do you… do you actually see it?" he asked, horrified as he imagined what it must be like to have those morbid images flashing through his head at all hours of the day.

"Yeah. A little while before it happens."

"Wow. I'm so sorry," Danny commiserated. "Are you… able to do anything about it, at least?"

Sam bit his lip. "Sometimes."

Danny's eyes trailed to the floor until Sam asked, "But that's not what you see?"

"No!" Danny exclaimed. "No, that would be awful. I don't… I don't see people dying." He shook his head.

"Well, what do you see?" Dean asked, hoping to speed up the exchange.

"Uhh," Danny thought about it for a moment. "I see dead people?" he offered with a grin that soon faltered. "I see ghosts. When they come out into the human world, I can see which one it is."

"You don't get very many of them, then?"

Danny sat up in surprise. "No, I get a ton. I get a couple every day. Amity Park is kind of a supernatural hotbed," he explained when the Winchesters looked shocked at his statement. "My parents study ghosts for a living and well, there are a lot of them here. A lot."

"My visions started last year, right around my birthday," Sam said after they'd had some time to absorb the new information. "What about yours?"

"Mine started… umm… just a couple months ago," he said quietly. "Not around my birthday," he added.

"Then why?" Dean asked. "What started it?"

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. "There was an accident."

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Danny considered telling someone his secret for the first time in his life, hoping that the men who had found him without even knowing who he was would understand what had happened to him and finally give him some answers.

The Winchesters, however, were beginning to like their conversation less and less the more it went on because he seemed like a decent kid, but that didn't change the reason they had combed the country to find him.

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	5. Chapter 5

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Sam and Dean looked at each other, confused and concerned. What kind of accident could have jumpstarted the psychic abilities granted by the Yellow-Eyed Demon's blood by nearly a decade?

"What…" Dean began as if not sure how to phrase it. "What do you mean, there was an accident?"

Danny stared at the floor for a long moment, mentally preparing himself to spill his secret for the first time. He hadn't even told his parents yet!

"Well," he let out a long deep breath. "My parents, the ghost hunters," he clarified. "They built a ghost portal in the lab downstairs and it didn't work. At first. But then my friend Sam talked me into checking it out while they were gone so I suited up and walked into it and pressed a button that somehow started it all up. While I was inside."

He finally looked up to see both men staring at him wide eyed.

"And… and after that, that's when you started having your visions?"

Danny nodded up at Sam. "Yeah, and other things too."

"What other things?" Dean asked sharply. Sam looked like he thought about apologizing for his brother's tone for a moment, but remained quiet as he, too, waited for an answer.

Thinking through the list of abilities he and Sam and Tucker had discovered he had, he realized that it might just be easier to show them than rattle off so many of them.

Standing up, he took a step closer to Sam, which made Dean tense up and jump to his feet asking, "Hey, hey, what are you doing?"

What he was doing was explaining his situation in the clearest way he knew how. Danny transformed, white rings washing over him to turn him into his ghostly alter ego. His street clothes had been replaced by the inverted skintight suit he had been wearing the day of the accident and his hair had gone from black to white.

Before he blink glowing green eyes at his two visitors, however, they had moved across the room, transformed themselves from the engaging brothers he had met into something far more dangerous.

They were side by side, bodies tense in fighting stances, a gun in Dean's outstretched hands and a wickedly jagged knife clutched in Sam's. Their faces had closed down with dark, wary expressions, and he hadn't imagined that anyone could have moved that quickly.

"Whoa, whoa!" he jumped back and held up his hands in what was meant to be a placating gesture, but it only made Dean move his gun upwards to keep it trained on Danny's chest as he hovered a few inches off the ground.

"What are you?" Dean demanded.

"I'm a…" Danny began before he faltered. He didn't really know what he was, did he? "I don't know. The accident," he explained, "It did something to me. And now I'm like this." He stretched out his arms. "I get visions, I can fly, I can fight ghosts with their own powers."

To elaborate, he began to call upon the fizzing energy that teemed inside of him, humming in his veins whenever he was in this form. His fist began to glow with energy from a blast that he'd seen countless other ghosts use on him. He hoped that the demonstration would explain a few things, but he had to rethink that when a sharp crack made him lose both flight and tangibility as he sank through the floor in surprise.

"Son of a—! Where did he go?"

Danny recovered and flew back up to where he had been and looked around for the source of the noise. When he saw the crack in the plaster and turned to see the look on the shorter man's face, though, it still took him a long breathless moment to put two and two together.

"You shot at me!" he gasped, and darted to the other side of the room, now carefully invisible, when he saw the gun swing toward him again. "You shot at me!" he repeated. "Why would you shoot at me?"

Dean tried to follow the voice with his pistol, but, while he was used to tracking things moving so fast they could barely be seen, it was another thing entirely to be up against something that could actually disappear completely.

"Because," Dean said, "We have to, kid. No hard feelings, okay? It's our job."

"No hard feelings?" Danny exclaimed, darting around the room. "You're trying to kill me for absolutely no reason!"

"Oh, there's reason, alright."

"Really?" Danny scoffed, "And what did I ever do to you?"

"It's not what you've done, Danny," Sam said, speaking up for the first time. "It's what you're going to do."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Danny asked. "What do you think I'm going to do?"

Dean smiled grimly as he shifted his grip. "Oh, it's not a matter of think, we know. You're going to turn evil. And then you're going to lead an army to wipe out the planet."

There was stunned silence before there was forced laughter from above them. "Are you… are you serious? Can you hear what you just said?" Then after another pause, "Are you guys crazy?"

"I wish we were," Sam said.

"But we got this from the highest authority. General Yellow Eyes himself says that you're his successor in this war and we are not letting that happen."

At the mention of the Yellow-Eyed man, Danny came back down to ground level and reappeared, forgetting the gun for a moment when he realized that he might finally get some more information about the figure that haunted him.

"Yellow Eyes?" he asked softly. "You know him?"

Dean whirled around to stare Danny in the eye. "Knew him. Why? He a friend of yours?"

Danny flicked his eyes over to Sam. "Is he gone?" he asked.

Sam's eyes softened. "Yeah, Dean killed him. But that doesn't get rid of the problem."

"Why can't it?" Danny demanded. "Why on earth would I turn evil if he's not around anymore?"

"I don't know," Dean cut in impatiently, "But I just know that you will."

"Why? Because the freaky evil guy says so? What if he was lying?"

Dean shook his head. "I can't take that chance. Not when all the rest of you ended up evil or dead too."

Danny stared at him. "What do you mean, 'the rest of us'?" He looked warily over at Sam. "There are more of us? There _were_ more of us? What, did you kill them all off?" he asked frantically. "Why isn't _he_ dead, then?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at the question that wasn't meant as a threat, but still felt like one so soon after Jake had repaid Sam's kindness with a knife to the back.

At the abrupt change, Danny knew his reprieve was up and, gulping, dove through the floor.

"Basement, Sam!" he yelled to his brother, who had already opened the door and started down the steps, taking them two at a time with his lanky legs.

"Stay back! I-I'm warning you…!" Dean heard the kid yell below him as he skidded across the living room floor. Then, it seemed like he would have enough time to get to the two of them before something happened because the teenager practically whined, "Can't we just go back to talking things out? That was going pretty well."

He reached the door to hear Sam begin to say something that was soon drowned out by the soft whir of machinery firing up. Danny yelled a split second before Sam began to scream.

"Sam!" he yelled, tearing down the stairs so fast he was almost falling. "Sam!"

When he made it to the bottom, his mind was spinning out of control so quickly that he could only process two things. First, Sam, on the ground, a blackened hole going straight through the center of his chest. And Danny hovering, wide eyed and slack jawed, just a few feet away staring down at his brother's body.

"No!" Dean shouted, broken voice echoing off of the metal walls of the basement lab.

He didn't even hear the boy's protestations of innocence as he held up his gun with hands that could not shake. Tears blurred his vision, but years of training ensured accuracy when emptying the entire round into a full sized, unmoving target.

.

.

.

.

Danny crumpled to the floor, falling in an undignified heap of tangled limbs, bright red blood pouring out of multiple bullet holes and a look of horror still plastered onto his unmoving features.

Dean didn't care. Couldn't care for the life he had just taken. Not when he sank to his knees and ghosted his hands over his brother's pale body and sobbed.

.


	6. Epilogue

.

.

.

.

Dean was silent and unmoving when they found him, his jeans dried in pools of his brother's blood as he held him to his chest with a grip that no human could break.

He didn't know when or how they were able to move them, but when he fluttered his eyelids open and he looked around with any coherency again, he was sitting alone in a cell.

All alone.

Without Sam.

Because Sam was dead.

Still dead. Always dead. And never going to come back to life again.

Dean had nothing left to bargain with now. Even if he could break out somehow, and make his way to a crossroads, his soul was already bound for Hell and that deal hadn't been to keep Sammy alive forever or even give him a long and happy life. Just to bring him back. It wouldn't do anything to keep him from getting killed again.

That was his job. To make sure he stayed that way. Always his job. Watch over Sammy. Keep Sam safe.

Always the one thing he failed at.

Even now, when all he had been trying to do was make sure that he would be safe from the biggest threat the Yellow-Eyed Demon had left behind. That he wouldn't have to deal with a second round of those twisted games when Dean was dead and gone.

But he had failed. And had lost his little brother forever.

He blinked slowly at the cold metal surrounding him.

All he wanted to do was die, to end his existence and finally let the black hole in the pit of his stomach swallow him alive and stop his heart from bleeding.

He could find a way to outsmart the guards that seemed to have taken everything from him and left him defenceless with nothing but a paper thin orange suit. He wasn't a Winchester for nothing, though. He was resourceful; he could still find a way to kill himself and join Sam except that, no, Sam was in Heaven now. And he was going the other way. In just one short year from now. All for nothing. Because he had screwed it all up again just because he was trying to make it all right.

He should have listened to Sam. About not going to Amity Park. About slowing down, enjoying the ride. About being brothers again. Hadn't that been all that he had wanted to do? When did he forget that?

He should have listened about everything.

"That's right, kiddo."

Dean looked up again and saw the Yellow-Eyed Demon leaning against the railings, smirking.

He blinked a couple times, knowing that he couldn't possibly be there because he'd shot him between the eyes with the almighty Colt. It was dead. It had to be dead.

And why would he be smiling?

"Because," the thing answered. "So things didn't go my way," he shrugged. "Your brother's generation is all gone now and so is the gold medal favorite in the next. But hey, that's happened to me before. I've still got some tricks up my sleeve. Even though you killed me."

The demon that destroyed everything the Winchesters had ever had sauntered forward before conspiratorially confiding, "What, you think that I don't have a backup plan for when I finally get taken out? You think that I don't have a dozen protégés lined up that will take my place and spread my blood? My endgame has been in production for millennia. I'm not letting your little handgun stop me just because things… didn't go my way," he winked.

Licking his lips, he continued, "And you know what? Things didn't exactly go your way either," he laughed.

Dean rose up to punch the smirk right off of the demon's face, but was yanked back down to his hard metal bench by handcuffs even before his fist met empty air.

When he looked up again, his family's personal demon had gone.

Leaving him all alone until the rest of his time ran out and Hell came to claim the soul that was rightfully theirs.

.

Dean didn't say another word until, eleven months later, he screamed his brother's name as guards raced to the usually abnormally quiet hallway to reports of a body torn to shreds, the cell painted in bloody streaks reaching nearly up to the ceiling.

No one knew how to explain it.

But then again, no one knew how to explain how Dean Winchester had died twice.

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They buried what they could piece together of his remains in an unmarked state grave.

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And, like with his brother, there was no one there to tell them to salt and burn his bones.

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End file.
